My friend Paul and I were at the Burnside Bridge street mart, wandering through the makeshift Kasbah, looking at trinkets, art, clothing, what have you, listening to carolers. I wanted a cup o’ coffee and not being able to walk and drink at the same time (right hand can’t hold a cup, left hand has to hold a cane) we stopped at a big cement rectangle.

I sat, Paul stood and Foxy the little dog between us soon attracted the attention of a couple kids, a blonde girl 2-ish and her older brother, about 4. He asked if they could pet my dog, I said yes, and then turned my attention back to our conversation. At some point the kids noticed us, they weren’t frightened, still calmly sitting with Foxy at our feet, just staring, fascinated; probably never having seen burn scars. We ignored them.

Suddenly the father is the smacking his toddler daughter in the face! Hitting fast over and over! Blondie is dumbfounded, she can’t believe it! The toddler gives her father an angry look that clearly says, "STOP! What's wrong with you!" then stands her ground and keeps looking. I can’t speak -- It’s a brain damage symptom; when shocked by horrid behavior, when I need my voice the most, I freeze. Couldn’t verbalize or budge, a statue lost in time.

I was 3, crossing a busy street holding hands with Mom. I saw a funny little guy coming towards us, he was short and small, like an eight or nine year old, but obviously older than my Mom. His face was silly, his back crooked, "Mommy, look at the Funny Man!" Delighted, I pointed him out. My mother wrenched my arm so hard she pulled me off my feet and dragged me fast across the road. I couldn’t understand what she was doing! "But Momma, look at the Funny Man!" I insisted. Why wouldn’t she look at him? And why was she being so mean to me! I still remember that incident and it happened more than 40 years ago.

The Monster didn’t ever make eye contact with us. He must have slapped his daughter 10 times, all the while furtively whispering "Stop it! Stop staring! Stop staring!" The Monster dragged his kids across the tiny alley and the parents turned their backs, presumably buying food.

Why couldn’t my mother have simply said, "We don’t point at people, sweetheart. That’s called Bad Manners." I would have understood that concept. And why couldn’t the Monster have said anything to his kid! From her POV evil Daddy had just lost his mind.

The kids are still looking at us. That man had no nose! No ears! He was wearing dark sunglasses, his hands a twisted gnarl of frozen fingers, he was downright mesmerizing! They weren’t frightened and they weren’t bothering anyone.

"He was in a fire," I called out to them. "He’s OK now." Paul turned and nodded his head. "It’s OK to ask what happened."

The parents realized we were talking and quickly got their kids moving away from us. The adults never looked at either of us, never spoke a word. Blondie and bro were still making eye contact, genuinely curious as they were dragged off.